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User blog:Squibstress/A Slant-Told Tale - Chapter 16
Title: A Slant-Told Tale Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual content; violence; abuse; alcoholism Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Sixteen 5 November 1960 “Stop fidgeting, now, the students will notice,” Amelia said sotto voce, putting her hand on Minerva’s to still it. Minerva immediately folded her hands in her lap. She had been delighted when Malcolm made the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but she hadn’t counted on how nervous she would be when he played his first game. Amelia leant over to whisper to Minerva, “He’ll do just fine. The Gryffindor team is very good this year, and Prewett wouldn’t have chosen him if he weren’t up to it.” Minerva gave her friend a brief smile and tried to relax. Ninety minutes later, the Gryffindors had beaten the Hufflepuffs one hundred seventy to ten, with Malcolm scoring one of his team’s goals, and Minerva was elated. She was very careful not to show any more pride in Malcolm than in any of his teammates when she went to congratulate them for their win, and she admonished them as sternly as ever to keep the noise of the celebratory party in the common room down to a dull roar. Minerva was pleased at how well Malcolm seemed to be adjusting to life at Hogwarts. He had quickly caught up with his classmates in Potions and Defence and seemed to be making friends and fitting in well enough as far as Minerva could see. He was even more gifted at Transfiguration than she had realised, and Minerva had to be careful not to let on in class how proud she was of him. When Albus had asked her one day how the boy was faring in her class, she had suppressed the urge to crow to her mentor over Malcolm’s talent, and she told the headmaster only that her son was doing quite well indeed. Predictably, it had taken less than a week for someone to spread the word that Malcolm was the Transfiguration mistress’s son, but Malcolm had taken the resultant ribbing in apparent stride. He had earned one detention, for a squabble with a seventh-year Slytherin in which the latter had had to appeal to his head of house to have the Langlock Jinx Malcolm had apparently set on him removed. Professor Slughorn later told Minerva that the boy had confessed that the quarrel had erupted when Malcolm heard Rabastan Lestrange make an obscene remark about her. She said nothing to Malcolm about the incident. Minerva invited Amelia back to her quarters for tea, which turned into a wee drink to celebrate Gryffindor’s victory. “He’s an excellent flyer,” Amelia said of Malcolm as they sipped their Scotch. “Needs to work on his handling of the Quaffle, though. He could’ve had another goal if his pitch had been more accurate.” Minerva said, “Sometimes I think you’re wasted as the Defence teacher; you really ought to be teaching flying and coaching Quidditch.” “If the Ministry thought I was too blind to continue as an Auror,” she said, pointing to her monocled left eye, “I doubt the Board of Governors would see their way clear to letting me referee Quidditch. It’s a much more serious business.” Minerva laughed. “In any event, I’m thankful to the Ministry for being so stupid. It’s been lovely having you here this year.” “Well, I have you to thank, don’t I? You were the one who sang my praises to Albus,” replied Amelia. “Actually, I can’t take the credit. Griselda was the one who suggested it to me. Frankly, it wouldn’t have occurred to me that you’d be interested in teaching. I had always thought Aurors were adventure-happy. I thought you’d likely be bored by the idea of sitting up here at Hogwarts.” Minerva had been very surprised when her old Transfiguration mistress had suggested Amelia Bones for the perennially vacant Defence Against the Dark Arts post. Minerva and Amelia had become friends after meeting at Griselda and Bathilda’s. They shared an interest in politics and chess, and Amelia had patiently introduced Minerva to the finer points of Quidditch after the latter had complained about having to attend all the Gryffindor matches. She had never cared much for sport, but Amelia’s enthusiasm had rubbed off, and Minerva soon found that she enjoyed both watching and discussing matches with her new friend. When she had considered Griselda’s suggestion, however, Minerva realised that Amelia had the makings of a fine teacher, and she had been pleased to take Amelia under her wing that autumn, remembering her own introduction to teaching at Hogwarts and how helpful both Albus and Filius had been, calming her fears and providing guidance when needed. After they had finished analysing the Quidditch game, as Minerva poured another dram of Scotch for Amelia, the Defence teacher said, “Alastor was quite taken with you, you know.” “Mr Moody?” asked Minerva with surprise. She had never met the Auror before the little get-together Amelia had hosted for her own birthday the week prior. They had had what Minerva considered a pleasant conversation, but she would have assumed Moody had written her off, given that they spent much of the dialogue in polite, but pointed, argument. “Yes. He’s been pestering me to find out if you’d mind if he owled you.” When Minerva didn’t say anything, she said, “So, what do you think?” “I don’t know, Amelia. I don’t know if I’m ready for … that kind of thing,” said Minerva. “He only wants to take you out for dinner or something, no ‘that kind of thing’ involved,” said Amelia. “At least, not yet,” she added. “Would a little of ‘that kind of thing’ be so bad, Minerva?” “I don’t know,” laughed Minerva nervously. “It’s been so long …” “Exactly,” said Amelia gently. “Gerald’s been gone, what, three years now?” “Four,” said Minerva. “Don’t you think it’s time you moved on? It wouldn’t mean you didn’t still care for Gerald. It would just mean you’ve accepted that he’s not coming back.” “I have accepted it. I accepted it a long time ago. It’s just that I don’t know if I want another man in my life now—and yes, Amelia, I realise that we’re only talking about dinner,” she said as she saw her friend open her mouth. “All right, suit yourself,” said Amelia. “But there don’t seem to be many opportunities to meet people up here. Your pickings are rather limited if you ever do decide you want ‘that kind of thing’.” “I see plenty of people—” Minerva began. “Oh, yes, Hogwarts is full of eligible bachelors. Let’s see: Flitwick’s married, so’s Kettleburn; Pringle is way too old, Hagrid is … well … it would be a challenge; Dumbledore likes men, Slughorn’s a playboy, and the rest are women. Although I hear Irma might be willing, if you think you want to dive in there …” “Wait … you said … Albus is homosexual?” “Yes, didn’t you know?” “No. I had no idea.” “Oh, well. Actually, it’s not surprising; he certainly doesn’t advertise it, and I don’t know that he’s had any real relationships in years. I really only know because Griselda’s known him for griffin’s years, and she’s mentioned it. I think he had some kind of traumatic relationship when he was young, so maybe he’s just not that interested in being with anyone. Just speculation, of course,” she said waving her hands dismissively. Later, as Minerva lay in bed, not sleeping, she considered what she had learnt about Albus. Assuming it was true—and she could think of no reason to doubt it—she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. While she couldn’t help being somewhat attracted to him, she had never harboured any hopes or fantasies that he would fall in love with her. Not really. The realisation that the favour he had done her had likely cost him more than she had known at the time made her want to weep. She wondered if it had repulsed him to make love to her, and knew she could never ask him. She was gripped by a wave of affection for him—affection and sorrow. The thought that he might have been denied companionship—for whatever reason—for so many years tugged at her heart. He was so warm; surely he craved some warmth in return? Thinking about what Amelia had said about Albus having had a traumatic relationship, it struck her that they were very much alike, she and Albus. If what Amelia had said was true, Albus had covered his sorrows with his genial manner while rejecting the possibility of true intimacy. She had done as much with her icy mien, and Merlin knew that the idea of intimacy with anyone scared her. She wished that she could talk to him about it, but the truth was that, even if it had been in either of their natures to share intimate confidences, it would still be impossible. She could never be that close to him, knowing what she had done. She did not deserve his intimate friendship and trust—she knew it, even if he did not. Which brought her to her next consideration: did she want intimate friendships? Did she want more than friendship with anyone? She had never even considered it after Gerald. Amelia might think it was out of some sense of loyalty to her long-departed husband, but the idea quite simply exhausted her. Although, thinking about it now, she reminded herself that, although it had certainly been an intimate relationship of a sort, her marriage to Gerald Macnair had never included anything resembling friendship. She had never thought to lean on him for support—he would likely have been incapable of giving it—nor to attempt share with him any of herself beyond her body. Not liking where this train of thought was leading her, she forced herself to switch her focus from her past to her future. What might it be like to take a lover? As uncomfortable as she was with the idea of having a physical relationship with anyone, she was even more unsure of her feelings about emotional intimacy. She turned her thoughts to Alastor Moody. He was an Auror, from the same group as Amelia had been, and Minerva could see why they were friends. Much like Amelia Bones, Alastor had a ready laugh that belied the serious nature she suspected lurked beneath the surface, and both were passionate about their work. He was evidently fiercely loyal; Amelia had told Minerva that Alastor had been her staunchest supporter when the Ministry had finally moved to push her out of the Auror corps. Minerva and Alastor had had a nice conversation about current laws governing Dark objects—she had changed the subject quickly when he started on Dark potions—and she had enjoyed the good-natured sparring they had done on the topic. Perhaps they could be friends, she mused, but would it be right to accept an invitation that was clearly meant as a salvo to see if there might be more than friendship in the offing? Moody was attractive enough, she guessed: a little older than herself, fit, with a wry way of smiling when she came at him with a point he couldn’t counter. His voice was a bit gruff, but the effect was softened by the lilt of what he had told her was his native Donegal. A week later, she found herself sitting across from the Irish-born wizard at a small restaurant off Diagon Alley. They had enjoyed a nice meal and some lively discussion. After the waiter had brought coffee, there was a lull in the conversation. She liked that Alastor didn’t try to fill the silence. Too many people found silence an intolerable burden and tried too hard to fill it, usually with nonsense. Finally, as he looked at her over the rim of his cup, she asked, “Why did you ask me out, Alastor?” “I would think that’d be obvious, Minerva,” he answered. She blushed at that, suddenly afraid he thought she’s been fishing for a compliment about her looks, which were, she reminded herself, nothing remarkable. He gave her his wry smile and said, “You interest me.” She gave a half laugh, saying, “Me? I’m just a schoolteacher. I haven’t even done any really interesting research.” “Not your job, Minerva. You. You clearly think a lot, and that attracts me. Neither of us suffers fools gladly, I think, and I suspect we’d find the same people fools. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you can back it up, which is rare as Basilisk’s teeth around here. I’m frankly surprised you’re here, and I find that attractive too. You aren’t as easy to read as it might seem at first. “Now, turnabout is fair play: Why are you here with me?” he asked. Why, indeed? “Because you argued with me, I suppose. Not many people do,” she said. “Scared to, I expect,” Alastor replied. “No—I mean, yes, some of them, probably—but I think there are quite a few people who just don’t think I’m worth the effort. I’m just a schoolteacher … and a woman.” “Then they’re fools,” Alastor said. She smiled at him and answered, “We agree on that, anyway.” When they had finished dinner, and Alastor had paid the check, he Apparated with her to the castle’s gates. She wondered if he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. He took her hand, but he didn’t kiss that, either. Instead, he gave it a small shake and said, “I’d walk you up to the castle, but that might set tongues wagging, and I imagine you’d rather avoid that. I also think you can take care of yourself for the quarter mile it’ll take you to get back.” “I expect so, yes,” she said. “I enjoyed our dinner. Did you?” he asked, peering at her. “Yes, I did.” “Want to do it again sometime?” “Yes, I think I’d like that.” “Good. Owl me with the time and place, and I’ll be there. Ta, Minerva,” he said with a wave of his hand, and he turned and disappeared, leaving Minerva a little flustered and more than a little amused. ← Back to Chapter 15 On to Chapter 17→ Chapters of Slant-Told Tale, A